The 'Terminus' Affair
by Avirra
Summary: A THRUSH sub-chief has his own plans for the subjugation of humanity - and it starts with the death of two of U.N.C.L.E.'s top agents. Features both the Solo/Kuryakin and Dancer/Slate teams.
1. Chapter 1

**Terminus - Part I**

Hands bound behind him, U.N.C.L.E. agent Robert Derivaux glanced upward at the outline of a large cat - a panther, perhaps - above the archway that he and his partner, Stanley Kemp, were being herded toward. From a distance, the buildings gave the impression of a grand old estate. From this close, it had more the appearance of a fortress.

The number of guards and how well they were armed did not bode well for thoughts of escaping this particular THRUSH establishment, but this was hardly the first time they had fallen into the enemy's hands. One thing made this situation bleaker than those other occasions - this time they had been betrayed by one of their own and they hadn't had the opportunity to send even a vague warning up the chain. There was a very good chance that no-one even knew of their capture.

While Derivaux was dwelling on those thoughts, Kemp was studying the guards. Even for THRUSHies, they seemed a grim lot. What really caught his eye was the mixture of weapons. Every man seemed to carry a pistol, but they also carried a variety of less noisy weapons, some carried billy clubs, some had long, wicked looking blades and other even carried crossbows that could kill from a distance without ever disturbing the neighbors.

More than a few sets of those weapons were trained on the pair as they were made to walk up marble stairs. At the top, a pair of reclining cats in a dark marble bracketed the doorway they were now led through. Once their eyes adjusted, the two agents found themselves facing an enormous desk in the most elaborate office they had ever laid their eyes on.

The man behind the desk rose and Kemp estimated the man to be in his forties, around six foot two and fit in a non-body builder sort of way. The THRUSH sub-chief had what Kemp had heard Agent April Dancer call movie star good looks and he was impeccably dressed as he moved around the desk to look over the two agents with his cool blue eyes. From both his attitude and tone, anyone listening would have though he was talking to expected guests instead of two men who were bound and currently being forced into a kneeling position by their guards.

"Gentlemen, you don't know how very long I have waited to meet some of U.N.C.L.E.'s finest. I am Ramiro Bedoya - welcome to El Cincuenta Gatos. My men will show you to your accommodations for the duration of your time with us, but first, I will take a few minutes of your time."

Without warning, a thick swath of cloth was snapped over each agents face and drawn back sharply, obstructing both their vision and their ability to draw in more than minimal air. Kneeling with bound hands and their heads held back, there was little they could do to prevent their clothing from being sliced from their bodies. After their shoes and socks were stripped from their feet, the cloths were loosened enough to allow them to breathe again, but not removed. In fact, they could feel the cloths being roughly knotted behind their heads before they felt ropes being looped around their ankles and tightly cinched. A sickly chemical smell warned them what was next, but they had no chance of avoiding the application of chloroform. Derivaux was only vaguely aware of the guards lifting him before the darkness claimed him.

Kemp was the first to awaken in their surprisingly warm cell. He was no longer bound, but nothing was left of his clothing. Two pairs of gym style shorts were in the cell with them and he took a moment to slip one of the pairs on before moving over to check on Derivaux. His partner never responded well to chloroform. To his relief, Derivaux was breathing well and starting to stir. Kemp took a better look at their surroundings while waiting for him to wake.

No windows, so they were either in an inner room or underground - Kemp's guts said underground. Where underground was the question. They could still be at the fortress estate or they could have been moved to any number of other places while they were unconscious.

"Stan?"

Reacting immediately to the rough voice, Kemp moved back to his partner's side.

"Easy, Bob - I'm here. Wherever here is."

Helping Derivaux into the other pair of shorts, Kemp filled him in on what little he knew. Derivaux rubbed his forehead. At least a headache was the mildest of the side effects he tended to suffer from chloroform. For a moment, they just sat together and drew strength from one another.

They had become partners under unusual circumstances. Both men had been paired briefly with U.N.C.L.E.'s golden boy - Napoleon Solo - during Mister Waverly's search for a permanent partner for his mercurial CEA. Both worked well enough with Solo, but not to the level that Waverly was looking for. Something else apparently drew the Old Man's eyes though - within a month of Kemp being pulled from working with Solo, they had been teamed together and Mister Waverly's instincts had been right. The two had clicked and had been a force for THRUSH to reckon with for the past three years.

Bringing his thought back to the present, Derivaux recalled what Bedoya had called the fortress.

"My Spanish is mostly limited to ordering tacos, but he called this place something to do with cats, didn't he?"

Kemp nodded, too worried to be amused.

"El Cincuenta Gatos - The Fifty Cats."

A voice from across the room had both looking up.

"You will find many things here related to cats, Agent Kemp."

It was Bedoya again, accompanied by six of his guards. It was no real contest as the two agents were drug out and each strapped face forward to a frame.

"The cat you are about to get to know intimately is the cat o' nine tails. It will be far easier on you both if you tell me what I wish to know about U.N.C.L.E. headquarters now."

There were no bravado statements. They allowed their silence to speak for them. After a minute Bedoya laughed.

"Two of Waverly's finest - I would have been disappointed with less."

* * *

><p>The two men lost track of time, but it was two days later when the agents were bound again and shoved back to kneeling positions in the office where they had first seen Bedoya. In those forty-eight hours, they had received multiple whippings, beatings and burns. They had been allowed water, but no food and barely any rest. Kemp had been blinded in his left eye - Derivaux's right arm was broken. Both were haggard looking and pale from blood loss.<p>

For a few minutes, Bedoya silently studied the two agents. He and his men had failed to even get the two agents to admit their own names, let alone any information that was valuable. Still, they would serve him in a fashion.

"I will admit to being impressed. You have shown far more determination and greater fortitude than I expected. In fact, I think I would like to see exactly how much willpower the two of you have remaining. I will release you at the edge of the main grounds. If you manage to make it off of the estate, you are free to go. But both of you must make it. Together or not at all."

Derivaux looked up, weakened, but still defiant.

"that is the only way we would leave regardless of your conditions."

Bedoya smiled.

"Excellent. Let us begin then."

Hoods were jerked down over the agents' heads and they were carried away. Kemp's prayers that chloroform wouldn't be used were answered, but he still winced as he heard Derivaux try to bite back cries of pain as his bad arm was jostled.

When the hoods were removed, both men fought back a shudder. They were facing a swampy area with no indication of how far they would have to go to get free of it. The sucking muddy ground was bad enough, but little doubt that there were creatures lurking in those waters as well as unknown depths to deal with. Not that they had a choice in the matter.

Still wearing nothing but the gym shorts - now filthy - the two agents began to make their way through. Insects swarmed their bare flesh and Kemp disappeared below the surface for a moment before breaking back up, sputtering and coughing up the stagnant water. The worst for Kemp was the sound of Derivaux's scream when a snake struck out and bit him in the already broken arm. Kemp managed to yank a vine free and made a tourniquet as best he could with the vine and a stick, but after that, he was bearing most of his partner's weight as Derivaux was fighting off shock. Still, they trudged on, mindlessly putting one foot in front of the other as minutes turned to hours.

Leeches were adding to their problems and Kemp didn't know how many more times he would be able to force his legs move, but he couldn't quit - Derivaux would never make it out without him. Blinking the sweat out of his remaining eye, Kemp looked ahead and almost sagged with relief. Through the mist and trees, he could see higher ground - and more land beyond it. Heartened, he turned to his friend to encourage him.

"Stay with me, Bob. We're almost out, buddy."

"I'm trying, Stan. I'm -"

Derivaux gave a sudden gasp and fell forward, partially dragging Kemp down into the water with him.

"Bob!"

Kemp frantically tried to pull his partner back out of the muck, but then he saw the end of the crossbow bolt protruding from Derivaux's back. He was still looking at it when another bolt pierced his own body. Eyes rolling back, Kemp collapsed over the body of his dead partner as Bedoya watched through a pair of high powered binoculars.

"A good day's sport, men. Pull up the bodies and take them to the dump. Toss them in with the rest of the trash and leave their gear with their bodies as well."

Orders given, Bedoya headed back to his fortress. A very good day of sport. He'd worked up quite an appetite.

* * *

><p>Early the following morning, Mister Waverly was in his darkened office. The only lights were the soft lighting coming off of the equipment in the room. Standing almost as still as a statute, he quietly smoked his pipe.<p>

The two bodies had been retrieved after a trace was done on Derivaux's communicator after the team failed to report in on schedule. It was official. One of his top teams was dead - tortured and murdered before their bodies were contemptuously dumped on a garbage heap. According to the autopsy reports, both had suffered greatly - even without the crossbow bolt that had pierced his heart, it was doubtful Derivaux would have survived the water moccasin bite he had sustained in addition to his other injuries.

The anger Waverly was feeling was a red-hot coal inside. To lose agents was one thing - to have them treated so disrespectfully was another. The THRUSH sub-chief responsible for the atrocity must pay - and he knew exactly who to send to extract the pound of flesh on behalf of the dead agents.

Moving with sure, determined steps to his intercom, he activated the unit.

"Miss Eklund? Summon Mister Solo and Mister Kuryakin to my office immediately."


	2. Chapter 2

**Terminus - Part II**

When they entered the office, both Napoleon and Illya picked up on Mister Waverly's mood immediately, taking seats and remaining quiet under he turned to face them.

"I suppose you have heard that two of our men were found dead."

Illya nodded while Napoleon responded verbally.

"Yes, sir. We hadn't heard anything beyond that yet."

"There is a reason for that, gentlemen. I wish to preserve such dignity as they have remaining so I have forbidden the details of their retrieval from being discussed. I will tell it to the pair of you only because it has a direct bearing on your next assignment."

The briar pipe in Mister Waverly's hand was cold now, but he didn't put it down. Napoleon was beginning to get concerned as Mister Waverly had yet to meet their eyes - a highly unusual occurrence in a meeting with the Old Man. His gaze was still aimed toward his pipe as he finally began to speak again.

"As you are both aware, when it comes to a mission, all of us are expendable. That is an unfortunate fact, but a fact nonetheless. However, even in war, there should be standards of conduct and lines that are not crossed. Our men were clad in nothing but filthy gym shorts with their possessions - including their communicators - strewn around their resting place - a rancid pile of garbage. We were obviously intended to find them in that condition."

A scowl was already showing on Illya's face. Killing was one thing - deliberately desecrating a corpse was another. Napoleon's facial emotions were held closer in check, but his tone told of his own disgust.

"Might I presume that Mister Kuryakin and I are being sent to deal with the THRUSH agents responsible?"

"You may indeed, Mister Solo. The memorial service will be this afternoon and I expect the two of you to be on your way after its conclusion. I suppose I should also mention that you will be expected to say a few words - and not as their CEA."

Illya saw the puzzled look form on Napoleon's face.

"Then what capacity did you want me to speak in, sir?"

Instead of answering that question, Mister Waverly slid over a pair of folders.

"The names of the agents lost are Robert Derivaux and Stanley Kemp. I would like you both to familiarize yourselves with the results of the autopsies. I believe there may be some clues as to where they had been held before being dumped."

Now seeing Napoleon go pale, Illya reached out and picked up the folders.

"I will see you at 1400 hours for the service. Until them, gentlemen."

Illya rose at the dismissal, but Napoleon hesitated.

"Will they be buried together?"

"If by that, you mean side-by-side? Then yes, they will be. In matching coffins. We have no stated preferences on file for either man, but that seemed most appropriate."

"I agree. Thank you, sir."

As they exited the outer office, Illya let Napoleon take the lead. Instead of heading back to their office, Napoleon was going to the room where the memorial services were always held. The room was the equivalent of two-stories with the upper floor being a rafter area where coffins were stored until needed. All identical, pristine white with red crepe lining the sides. The lids of two of the coffins were now open - Illya supposed they were waiting for the bodies to be released from Medical.

Napoleon didn't say a word as he looked over the coffins and, after a few minutes, he turned and left. Illya trailed behind as before, their destination this time was their office. Illya sat behind his desk and opened the first folder, starting to read. Once he finished it, he laid it on Napoleon's desk, but otherwise did not interact with his partner. Napoleon would talk when he was ready.

The office remained silent until only half an hour remained until the service. Napoleon's clenched fist came down on his desk like a gavel.

"I hate this, Illya."

"I know you do, my friend. You knew them both better than most of the other agents, did you not?"

Napoleon's forehead lowered to rest on his clasped hands.

"Stan was my last partner before Mister Waverly teamed us up."

The blue eyes softened in sympathy. Unless a partnership ended due to a betrayal, an ex-partner was still a partner.

"And Derivaux?"

One of Napoleon's hands slid free of the other and pushed into his hair.

"Bob was also a former partner. Mister Waverly didn't like how they meshed with me, but he saw something and teamed them up three years ago. They've been . . . were one of the top teams ever since."

Napoleon went quiet again, but this time Illya moved to stand behind his partner, laying his hands on Napoleon's shoulders.

"Their deaths are not on you for no longer being their partner. They were a good team. Mister Waverly was correct - they were left as they were as a message to the rest of us. Likely an attempt to demoralize us. They did not have that effect on Mister Waverly and I, for one, look forward to showing them the error of their judgment."

"That's two of us, tovarich."

Illya left his hands on Napoleon's shoulder a little longer before removing them and speaking.

"Napoleon, it is time for us to go to the service."

Nodding, Napoleon stood and straightened his hair, taking a deep breath.

"Come on, pal. Let's go pay our respects to two of the best."


	3. Chapter 3

**Terminus - Part III**

Early the next morning, Napoleon and Illya were entering the small garage of the gas station owned by Stuart Dixon, the last known contact the Derivaux and Kemp had made. Illya remained his usual quiet self as Napoleon smiled broadly and made the introductions.

"Mister Dixon? I'm Napoleon Solo. This is my partner, Mister Kuryakin. Would you mind answering a few questions?'

"No, no. Not at all. Shame about those other two agents. Real shame. How can I help you?"

"For a start, could you tell us what the three of you spoke about?"

"Not much of anything really, Mister Solo. They had some interest in the new water tower, but I really didn't have much information for them other than it was built a little over a year ago."

"I see. That's something we'll check into. Have you heard any rumors of unusual activity?"

"No, no. Can't say as I have. Few boys from another county came through and caused a ruckus, but that happens every year when harvesting starts up, so nothing unusual about that."

Illya spoke up, causing Dixon to jump. He'd forgotten the quiet man was in the room.

"Could you give us directions to the water tower?"

Dixon blinked and pointed.

"You can see it from here."

It took a mighty effort, but Illya managed to avoid rolling his eyes.

"Yes, but unless there is a road directly from your window to the base of it, we do not know how to reach it without trial and error. Directions would save us a great deal of time."

"Oh - yeah sure. Guess I forgot for a minute that you fellows don't know all the back roads around here. Let me write those out for you."

"You are most kind. Napoleon? I am still feeling a bit under the weather. If you do not mind, I will go lay down in the back seat of our car and wait for you."

Napoleon covered his confusion with the ease that came from years of practice of covering for whatever move it was that Illya had in mind.

"Sure thing, chum. We'll get to the motel next and get you settled down. I can do the initial look around by myself in an area this quiet."

Dixon didn't speak again until Illya was out of sight, followed by the sound of a car door opening and shutting.

"Your partner's not got anything serious wrong with him, does he?"

Napoleon waved that away.

"Nothing serious. Poor guy gets motion sickness in airplanes and he didn't have time to refill his prescription before we had to fly here. Which meant the plane hit turbulence."

"Yeah, that always seems to be the way, doesn't it? Sure he won't need to see a doc?"

"We've been through this before. I'll get him to our room and he'll pass out like a dead man for a couple of hours, but after that, you'll never even know he'd been sick."

"That's good. Say, where are you fellows staying? That way if something comes up, I can leave a message."

"Good idea. We're staying at the Dewdrop."

"Nice little place. Nothing fancy, but clean and well-run. Karen will take good care of you. And - here you go. So, heading there this evening?"

"Not until close to sundown. I want to make sure Mister Kuryakin is settled, grab a shower and change out of my traveling clothes first."

"Good idea. If you fellows need anything else, you know where to find me."

Napoleon smiled again and gestured with the hand holding the instructions.

"Right. Thanks for your help."

As Napoleon headed to the driver's side, he glanced in the rear window. As expected, Illya wasn't inside. Climbing in as if everything was normal, Napoleon started up the car, gave a wave through the window and drove off. Fortunately, the road was thickly wooded and Napoleon pulled off to wait once he was certain he couldn't be seen any longer from Dixon's garage. He left the car running as the noise of restarting it might draw attention.

It was about twenty minutes before Illya emerged from the woods and climbed into the passenger seat.

"Well? Anything?"

"Yes. we must inform headquarters that Dixon is a mole as we suspected. Once I opened and shut the car door, I went back and positioned myself beneath his office window. Once you drove off, he immediately called someone he called Señor Bedoya. He informed him that you will be at the water tower around sunset and that I will be alone at the Dewdrop Inn."

"I take it you noticed his remarks about Derivaux and Kemp as well?"

"I did. And since Mister Waverly ordered the matter not to be spoken of, he should not have known."

"Let's go take a quick look at this water tower before we head to the motel."

The directions were fairly straight forward and both men exited the car when they arrived. The tower was very tall and very new. Napoleon looked up at it, but then noticed that Illya was looking past him.

"Something wrong?"

"How many water towers would you say an area with this small of a population would require?"

"Only one."

"Then I wonder why they would have spent the money to build a second one when that one does not appear to be very old."

Turning, Napoleon saw what Illya was looking at. Obviously another water tower, but it was painted a dull gray and so didn't stand out as much as the one they were under.

"That, tovarich, is a very good question. Let's look around some, shall we?"

There were no signs of a fight, but there had been plenty of time to remove any traces. In fact, it appeared that the area around the tower had been mowed very recently. When they met again by the car, Illya shook his head.

"I do not like this, Napoleon. The area is so open, there will be nowhere for you to take cover. You will be a sitting goose."

"That's duck."

"Duck- goose. What difference will it make?"

"Not much, I must admit. We need to make serious plans and we need to make them fast. I don't trust that our room is going to be bug free."

"Then let us get back in the car and I will make a few calls while you drive."

"Good idea."


	4. Chapter 4

**Terminus - Part IV**

The drive to the Dewdrop Motel was done in a roundabout fashion to give them plenty of time to finalize their plans. When Napoleon pulled the car into a parking place at the motel, an attractive woman who appeared to be in her early forties immediately came out to greet them.

"Welcome. I'm Karen Dixon. Stuart called and told me that you folks would be here this morning. Said that Mister Kuryakin was feeling poorly. Well, I've got everything ready for you. Follow me."

The blond agent spoke softly before getting out of the car.

"The local contact isn't very discrete, is he?"

Taking the keys from the ignition, Napoleon shook his head.

"To say the very least, Mark. Play along - answer to Kuryakin and let's get you settled before I head to meet whatever's waiting for me at the water tower."

"It feels bad to let you knowingly walk into a trap like this, mate."

"I know, but we've got two things that I hope will give us an edge. One, whoever this THRUSH chief is, he likes to toy around and torture instead of outright kill."

Reaching over the front seat, Mark fished up his bag to go in with him.

"Your first point isn't terribly reassuring. What the second?"

"Our partners are somewhere in the background. Illya's following up on one of the leads from the autopsies. Both men had leeches attached to them."

"So, he's looking for where they might have come from. I must admit, number two more than makes up for number one."

Napoleon's attitude shifted and he wore a broad smile as he got to his feet and began to follow the woman.

"Dixon? So are you related to Stuart?"

"First cousins. You'll run into a lot of Dixons around these parts. Anyone that you run into, you can pick one of two names and have a real good chance of being right. Most folks that aren't Dixons are Hudsons."

A muffled exclamation from Mark followed by him swatting his arm had her changing the subject.

"Mosquitos are real bad this time of year. And big. Why, they practically try to carry you off to snack on later. But believe it or not, they aren't so bad here compared to closer to the swamp."

"If the insects are worse they, I'd guess everyone gives the swamp a wide berth."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you, Mister Solo, but nope. There's a crazy man actually lives in a place practically surrounded by the swamp."

"Please, call me Napoleon. Is the man in the swamp a local?"

"No, not even close. He styles himself like he's some sort of Spanish nobility. Like I said, crazy. You won't need to worry about him though. He doesn't leave his place much. And here we are. Room's not fancy, but it's comfortable and I've had all the showers updated. Plenty of towels, but if you need more, just call the office."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Karen - please. Keep saying ma'am and I'll start looking around for my mother. Here's your keys - I'll leave you to get settled in. Hope you get to feeling better, Mister Kuryakin. Try the shower - a hot shower with our mineral water might do you a world of good."

Mark shook his head. Her assumption that he was Illya was ludicrous, but might work to their advantage. Since they couldn't be sure if their room was bugged or not, they stuck to their assigned roles.

"I think I'm going to take a drive around the area - get the lay of the land. Why don't you grab a shower and then nap until I come back, then we'll find somewhere to grab a bite."

"Sounds good. Try not to get lost."

Giving Mark a 'you've been hanging around Illya too much' look, Napoleon scooped up one of the room keys before heading for the door.

"Ha, ha - funny man. Don't give up your day job."

Mark waited until he heard the car drive away, then looked around the room. After standing around in the sticky heat, the thought of the shower was appealing. Decision made, Mark quickly stripped and headed into the bathroom. He was pleasantly surprised by how large the shower was - most motel showers reminded him more of phone booths with water added. The subway tile was gleaming white and the frosted glass door was equally spotless.

Unwrapping a bar of soap and placing it in the soap holder, Mark then grabbed a washcloth before turning on the water, adjusting the temperature before stepping in. Taking a moment to enjoy the feel of the water, he next soaped up his washcloth and began scrubbing his face and neck. A loud metallic click drew his attention immediately. Rinsing the soap from his face, he pulled on the door so he could check on the source of the noise he'd heard - but the door wouldn't budge.

Another noise, similar to one made by old radiators in the winter, came from nearby. Seconds later, Mark began to feel a tingling on his skin wherever the water was hitting. He swiftly turned the water off, but it was too late. He was covered and had no way out of the shower stall to get away from it. Pressing on the thick glass, he scolded himself for not having paid closer attention to how very thick the glass was.

The tingling sensation was growing more intense, but the fuzzy feeling creeping over his brain was more worrisome. He didn't feel weak or like he was going to collapse, he simply was losing track of what he was thinking about.

Less than three minutes later, Mark was still standing with his hands pressed against the wet glass. When the metallic click sounded again, the door was pulled open, but not by Mark. He remained standing as he had been, a blank expression on his face. The two men now in the bathroom with Mark were both wearing protective gear and were careful not to come in contact with the water themselves. Mark moved as directed with no resistance.

As one of the men started to wrap Mark in a bathrobe, the other picked up the telephone.

"Señor Bedoya? Yes, sir. The test worked perfectly. We have Kuryakin."

* * *

><p>Napoleon drove around the area, seemingly at random, but it was only to give him a chance to speak with Illya and April without fear of being overheard. Once he'd filled them in on the swamp eccentric he'd been told about, he turned around and headed back toward the questionable water tower.<p>

Stopping his car about a quarter of a mile away from the tower, Napoleon got out and made use of a set of field glasses to get a better look over the surrounding area. In a clump of trees not far from the tower, a small glint caught his eye. Lowering the glasses, he headed toward the trees to take a closer look.

It took getting within a few yards of the trees to notice there was something in their midst - a small building that had been painted to camouflage it. For a moment, he wondered why anyone would have taken so much care to hide the building but then leave something shiny uncovered - then he heard a cawing sound and looked up. A crow had unwittingly undone their hard work by building its nest on a branch that extended over the top of the building - and this particular crow apparently had an attraction for the foil wrappers from chewing gum. It had decorated the outer part of its nest with the shiny stuff and that was what had reflected the light.

Knowing he was in for teasing by his partner later for yet another example of the Solo luck in action, Napoleon smiled as he checked out the door to the small building. Locked, as he expected, but the lock was a simple one and he had it picked in no time. Easing open the door, wary for any alarms, Napoleon glanced inside.

Resisting a whistle, he went in for a closer look at equipment both Mark and Illya would have loved to get their hands on. He wished one of them was with him as he looked at the green numbers and letters that were scrolling on the small monitor. He didn't dare touch the keyboard, but the only thing he could really make out about the information showing on the screen was that it had something to do with the water tower.

Pulling out his communicator, Napoleon was about to contact Illya and read off some of the gibberish to him when he heard a noise behind him and turned to find a gun pointed directly at him.

"I am impressed, Mister Solo. Perhaps all of the talk about you is more than mere hyperbole after all. My employer is quite anxious to meet you."

Carefully not making any quick moves, Napoleon took note of the man's appearance, but was certain he'd never seen him before.

"And who is this employer of yours?"

"Señor Bedoya. Your partner, Mister Kuryakin is already on his way to meet him as well. Come - Señor Bedoya does not care to be kept waiting."

The man backed up and two other men came through the door. With only one door that was being covered by the man with the gun, the odds were not in his favor, so Napoleon didn't fight them. In short order, Napoleon was stripped from the waist up, his communicator and gun both confiscated before his hands were bound behind his back with a lightweight, flexible rope.

Watching the scene through her own field glasses, April frowned as she watched Napoleon coming out of the small wooded area surrounded by the three men. Opening her communicator, she called Illya.

"Open Channel D - Dancer to Kuryakin. Illya - they have Napoleon."

"And I believe I have found where it is that he will be taken."

"You've located the Spanish swamp royalty?"

"There cannot be another place like this near the swamp and I believe the number of armed men I can see confirms it is the correct place. Make your way to our rendezvous point and I will pick you up."

"Right. Dancer out."

Tucking away his own communicator, Illya's blue eyes were icy as he took one last look over the odd estate. He hadn't mentioned the one detail that had removed all doubt from his mind. He had gotten a good look at the weapon one of the guards was carrying. A crossbow - the same weapon that their coroner theorized had caused the deaths of both Kemp and Derivaux.


	5. Chapter 5

**Terminus - Part V**

Napoleon's head ached. His captors had waited until they had walked him to their vehicle before chloroforming him. Turning onto his side to try and ease the accompanying nausea, he opened his eyes to see Mark sitting nearby clad in nothing but a pair of gym style short and staring ahead blankly. Before he could move over to check the younger man over, a voice rang out.

"Ah, excellent. Good of you to finally join us, Mister Solo. Mister Kuryakin has been patiently waiting for you to wake up. It seems Waverly didn't get my message plainly enough last time, but I'm sure the discovery of your bodies will convince him to leave my territory alone."

Napoleon was now alert enough to note that the remainder of his clothing had been taken and a pair of shorts similar to Mark's were the only thing available to pull on. He quickly did so, looking for the source of the voice and finally locating the speaker.

"And who might you be?"

"Ah yes, I have forgotten we have not yet been introduced. I am Ramiro Bedoya and you are in my home - El Cincuenta Gatos."

"Can't say much for your interior decorator."

"You are amusing, Mister Solo. I will admit to skimping on the money when it came to decorating the rooms of my temporary guests. In the case of yourself and Mister Kuryakin? Very temporary. Since I was unable to get any sort of useful information from either Derivaux or Kemp, I doubt I would be able to get anything from you or your partner either. Besides. I found the hunt highly enjoyable last time and I think I would prefer to go straight to the main event."

Two men came to the door, one of them spoke directly to Mark.

"Stand up and follow me."

Seeing the zombie-like compliance from Mark made Napoleon shudder and the disembodied voice laughed.

"That reminds me that I should actually send Waverly a thank you card attached to your bodies. Mister Kuryakin aided us in testing out the newest weapon in my arsenal. Follow along behind your partner, Mister Solo. How long he manages to live will be entirely up to you.

Bad feeling increasing by the second, Napoleon followed behind Mark as he was directed to stand by the edge of the swamp. Napoleon also had the distinct impression that this sight had been one Bob and Stan had faced. He also finally got his first look at Bedoya as the next command was given to Mark.

"Start walking."

Mentally cursing, Napoleon quickly saw what Bedoya had meant. If Mark was attacked or went into waters over his head? In his current condition, he wouldn't be able to save himself. It was up to Napoleon to keep him alive.

* * *

><p>Not far away, Illya and April were surveying the estate and swamp through their field glasses.<p>

"They're sending Mark and Napoleon into the swamp with hardly anything on, Illya. And Mark is acting very strangely. Almost like a sleepwalker."

Illya frowned at the different sight he was seeing

"We have armed men moving into position. I believe they plan to kill our partners in the swamp as they did the other two agents. Get your gun ready, April - we must not allow that to happen."

Nodding, April pulled out and checked her weapon.

"Should we switch to darts?"

"No. For once, the regular bullets will be much kinder. We are in a swamp. If we dart them, they will drown. Give them a cleaner death than that."

April suppressed a shudder at that mental image, then drew a deep breath.

"Them or our partners, right? Our partners win out."

* * *

><p>One of Napoleon's fears came true as Mark stepped into a lower area and was completely submerged. He was grateful that Mark wasn't fighting against him, but it still was a struggle to get them both back above the surface. Mark immediately started coughing out the brackish water. Of course - he wasn't even in control enough that he would have held his breath.<p>

Even as Napoleon leveled a whole new string of curses at Bedoya, Mark turned his head to look at him. He was still not his old self, but Napoleon was beginning to see signs of life in his eyes. A sudden shivering overtook Mark and he fell sideways. Napoleon reacted without thinking, grabbing for him. A second later, a sharp pain bloomed on the back of his shoulder as the sound of something striking drew his attention. A crossbow bolt was now sticking out of the side of a nearby tree.

To the shock of everyone in the area, a gunshot rang out a second later followed by the sound of a body hitting the water. A familiar voice rang out and Napoleon didn't know if Illya's voice had ever sounded sweeter.

"Napoleon! Keep yourself and Mark down."

Illya and April methodically took down the hunters who were still after Napoleon and Mark as Bedoya became increasingly rabid in yelling his orders from the sidelines. Illya eyed the man coldly and quickly began to alter his weapon as April continued to deal with the others. Changing his Walther into its carbine configuration was done with the ease born of hours of practice. Remembering how Derivaux and Kemp had been found, Illya had no qualms about lining up his shot and taking it.

The sudden silence from Bedoya drew the attention of his remaining men who scattered like rats without his presence holding them there. The task then was to get Napoleon and Mark out of the swamp water and to medical help as quickly as possible.

* * *

><p>Two days later, all four of the agents entered through Del Floria's tailor shop, making their way to Mister Waverly's office. Mark still looked a bit worse for wear, but considerably better than he had when they'd finally gotten him out of the swamp.<p>

Both Napoleon and Illya smiled thinly at the sight of Stuart Dixon in custody sitting in the outer office with his guards. As they entered the main office, Waverly immediately motioned them toward the chairs.

"Gentlemen- Miss Dancer. I see from the initial reports that the situation was a bit trickier than an out of control sub-chief. We seem to be fortunate that Mister Bedoya kept his cards close to his chest. According to the records found on his estate, he never shared the formula with THRUSH Central for that concoction he had used on Mister Slate. The water tower filled with that mixture has been dealt with and we have both the formula and the scientists who devised it under our watch now. Have the doctors certified you as clear from its effects, Mister Slate?"

"Yes, Mister Waverly. I hope we've seen the last of that stuff. Nasty all around. It was like being trapped inside of a car you had no control over."

"Indeed. While I regret that injuries to yourself and Mister Solo as well as the loss of two good men, I am grateful we were able to neutralize this threat before Bedoya implemented his plans."

"If we might know, sir, what were his plans?"

"Once he perfected the ratio of chemical to water, he planned to do a methodic tampering of public water sources. Bathing, showering, drinking, washing dishes - according to our laboratory, enough repeat exposures would eventually deaden upper brain functions to the point where independent thought would no longer be possible. The code name was Terminus."

Gesturing toward his door, Mister Waverly continued.

"Mister Dixon has confirmed that Agents Kemp and Derivaux were killed because they paid too much attention to the new water tower. I suspect they had the same questions that the two of you had regarding going to the expense of building a new tower when the other tower was still relatively new and serviceable."

Illya was still looking toward the door.

"And Dixon?"

"He will be attended to, Mister Kuryakin. His motives are the sort I have the least tolerance for."

Napoleon had a good idea what that was.

"Greed, sir?"

"Precisely, Mister Solo. As if money would have been of any use in the type of world Bedoya was intent on creating."

Moving back toward his desk, Waverly continued speaking.

"It is Thursday and, for a change, rather quiet in the scheme of things. I suggest the four of you take advantage of being free of both duty and medical and report back for duty first thing Monday morning. That is assuming, of course, that you have your reports finished on the Terminus affair before you sign out."

"Yes, sir, Mister Waverly."

It wasn't quite a stampede out of his office, but if there was such a thing as an orderly stampede, it would have been close. Alone again, Mister Waverly let out a soft chuckle as he removed the tea cozy from his teapot and refilled his cup. Were he a betting man, he would be willing to wager that particular set of reports would be filed in record time.


End file.
